The bell chimes at the top of the church in the center of town.  One, Two, Three…until you count, 11 o’clock.

A Summer night.

The lightening has passed and strong wind gone.  The trees drip.  The trees drip, drip, drip with leftover rain.  All is still.  And wet.  And humid and moist and damp, and…summer. 

The children are asleep.  The lights are off in their bedrooms.  Their windows ajar, letting the fresh humid fragrance of summer drift into their room, casually.  No snoring tonight.  No bedcovers pulled tight ‘round bodies.  No coughing or wheezing.  No bad dreams.

It’s Summer.  The earth is warm and fragrant.  The air is moist and welcoming.  The world invites and beckons, even at this late hour.  The sky sparkles and crackles with lightening from far away.

A car passes on a road.  Not your road, but a nearby road.  Where are they going?  Are they far from home? 

The house is still.  Quiet.  No baseball on the TV.  No movies on the DVD.  It’s lights out.  Everyone has showered.  Everyone is asleep.  Everyone is clean and perfectly perfect. 

In this hour, in this moment, even as it beckons with the outside fireworks and pitter-patter of rain, the world stands still.  A hush slowly, slowly settles.

No more email.  No more chores.  No more reading. 

Just you.  The night.  The quiet.  The idea of perfect.  The moment of calm.  The peace you seek amidst the hustle bustle rustle of each day

Summer.